


Window To The Soul

by Scribblesinink (Scribbler)



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribbler/pseuds/Scribblesinink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a job for the Irish, Kozik drags Tig to see a fortune teller. The experience affects Tig more than he's willing to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Window To The Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bingo square _Phobias_. Thanks to Tanaqui for the beta.

Following Kozik through the opening of the tent, Tig looked around, scrutinizing the interior. Despite the sunlight outside, it was gloomy among the canvas walls, despite―or perhaps because of―the colorful hangings that attempted to liven up the place. The air was thick, heavy and sickly-sweet with the smell of incense. Tig’s throat itched and he coughed; what Kozik expected to find in this place was beyond him. Fortune tellers, tarot readers, crystal balls: it was all a big steaming heap of bullshit.

At least it was Kozik’s money that was being wasted on this crap, not Tig’s. Kozik had insisted on making a beeline for the tent, soon as they rolled into town and he spotted it among the other carnival attractions. It wasn’t what they’d come out for, either, but as they couldn’t make their move until nightfall, they needed to kill some time. Tig could think of a number of better ways to do that, though. He’d seen a bar advertising nude dancers and―he licked his lips―a cold beer would go down well, after the long and dusty ride they’d had.

While he was muttering as much to Kozik, keeping his voice low in spite of himself, a curtain screening off the rear section of the tent was pulled aside and a woman stepped through. Tig assumed she was the palm reader advertised on the board outside. Turning toward her and squinting into the gloom, Tig found himself pleasantly surprised. Maybe Kozik wasn’t as dumb as he’d thought.

Tig had been picturing the usual: a wrinkled old crone with teeth missing. Instead, the woman who greeted them was young and pretty, her dark green eyes heavily rimmed with kohl. A scarf covered her hair, except where a few wisps had escaped, revealing it was a deep auburn. What little Tig could see of her skin, beneath the patterned flowing robe with its long sleeves that only hinted at the body hidden underneath, was smooth and tan. Tig smirked; he couldn’t care less about her party tricks, but he wouldn’t mind taking her back behind that curtain and getting her out off those robes. _See if she’s a true redhead_ , he chuckled, letting his gaze run her up and down openly, imagining her naked. She gave him a quick glance, and then ignored him as she took a seat and invited Kozik to sit down on the stool across from her.

Her fingers, tracing the lines in Kozik’s palm, were slim, nails painted a blood red. She mumbled quietly under her breath, but Tig wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. It was all a load of crap, anyway. Kozik was sucking it up like it was the gospel, though. Or perhaps it was just her touch he liked. Well, maybe if she put that hand on Tig’s dick, he might be tempted to listen to her too.

He sniggered; that could be a whole new market: dick reader.

The woman shot him an irritated glance and Kozik hissed, “Shut up, dude.” Tig rolled his eyes and planted his feet further apart on the carpeted floor.

At last, she released Kozik’s hand and sat up straight.

“Thanks.” Kozik got to his feet. “Him next.”

“Wha―?” Tig was pulled from a pleasant day dream where the palm reader was giving his dick as much careful attention as she had Kozik’s palm. “Nah, I―.” He didn’t get the chance to finish his objection. Already, Kozik had passed another ten dollar bill to the woman, which she deftly folded twice before slipping it into her robes. Mesmerized, Tig watched the money disappear.

“Please, sit.” She gestured at the stool Kozik had vacated, her accent musical and exotic. Probably fake, too, Tig reckoned, shooting Kozik a glower before taking the seat. Bullshit or not, he really had no desire to have his fortune read. But she held out her hand expectantly, and, with a resigned sigh, he offered her his own.

Her fingers were dry and cool against his skin, her nails sharp as she dug them into the flesh of his palm. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, so Tig remained where he was while she hummed and mumbled under her breath. “Well?” he demanded at last, running out of patience with the charade.

“Eyes,” she muttered. “I see eyes.”

“Eyes?” Tig echoed. What the hell did that mean? “What the hell?”

“Eyes everywhere. Watching, waiting.” Her fingers clamped around his wrist, holding him in a surprisingly strong grip as he tried to pull his hand back.

“Yeah, what the fuck ever!” He yanked himself free. She whipped her head up, staring at him, though he doubted she saw him. His blood ran cold in his veins as he caught her expression.

“Eyes!” she cried out again, her voice rising with each iteration. “Eyes, eyes, _eyes_!”

A shudder ran along Tig’s spine; this bitch was fuckin’ _crazy_. Shaking, he leapt to his feet, the stool toppling over as he stumbled out of the tent into the open field buzzing with fair-goers. The bright sunlight after the darkness inside made his eyes tear up and he squinted into the glare as he sucked in the fresh air, filling his lungs with oxygen to chase out the incense-heavy fumes. Taking another deep breath, he willed his racing heart to slow down.

“What the hell was that, dude?” Kozik appeared through the tent flap. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tig snapped. “Goddamn gipsy bitch.”

“Hey, it’s all for fun, right?” Kozik gave him another concerned look and shrugged. “She’s probably not even a real gipsy.”

“Whatever. Let’s go. I need a fucking drink.”

Or two. Or three.

o0o

Several hours, and a couple cold beers later, the palm reader and her hysterical ravings had been forgotten, and Tig was focused on the job they’d come to do. Leaving their bikes a block away from the old factory building that was their target, he and Kozik walked the last part, long shadows trailing them as the sun set. Soon, it’d be full dark. The perfect cover.

“Hurry up,” Kozik prompted as he kept watch while Tig worked to pick the lock of the factory door. “Let’s get this over with. You still owe me a rematch in those Bumper Cars.”

Rolling his eyes at himself, Tig finally pried the lock open. Digging a small flashlight from his cut pocket, he switched it on and slipped inside to―. He froze mid-step, weight on one foot, the purpose for their break-in vanishing from his mind.

Kozik bumped into him from behind. “Shit dude, get outta my way.”

Kozik gave him another shove, and Tig stumbled forward an unwilling step as Kozik pulled the door shut after them, before adding his flashlight’s beam to Tig’s. In the meager light of both beams, row after row of mannequins peered back at them with dull eyes ( _eyes_! a small voice gibbered in the back of Tig’s mind) painted on fiberglass molded into human shape. Eyes that seemed to be boring straight into Tig’s soul. Tig discovered he couldn’t look away, much as he wanted to.

“Hey!” Unaware of Tig’s terror, Kozik tugged at his sleeve, breaking the spell at last. “Up there.” He pointed with his flashlight, the beam reflecting off a window set into the wall of a small office built on a raised platform. A steel staircase led up to it. From up there, the supervisor must have had a perfect view of the entire floor, back when the place had still been a working factory.

Kozik was making his way toward the staircase. Tig trotted after him, glad he no longer had to face the damned dolls, but unable to keep from twitching as he sensed their dead gazes still aimed like laser sights at his back.

They reached the top of the stairs and Kozik tried the handle of the door leading into the office. “Crap.” It was locked.

Jostling Kozik aside, Tig crouched in front of the door, placing his flashlight on the floor while he fumbled for his lock picks. Trying to insert one of the picks into the keyhole, he nearly dropped it, he was trembling so hard. “Shit.”

“You okay, bro?”

Tig wiped his face with his sleeve. Was it hot in here? Pushing back to his feet, he shoved the picks at Kozik, hoping Kozik wouldn’t catch on to the way his hands were shaking. “Your turn. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Even as he offered the trade, Tig regretted it. Keeping an eye out meant watching the floor with the dolls. But it was too late to snatch the words back. Besides, Kozik stood a much better chance at getting the lock to give than Tig in his current state.

Kozik gave him another strange look, but accepted the tools and went to work.

As Tig waited for Kozik to spring the lock, it took all of his self-control not to pace around on the small landing or tell Kozik to hurry. Kozik knew as well as he did their plan was to get in and out as fast as they could―if initially for entirely different reasons than the ones Tig was currently entertaining.

Wait…. Did something move? Tig angled his flashlight, but the beam was too weak to penetrate far into the darkness of the hall. There! He swiveled on his heel, sure he’d caught something shift from the corner of his eye. He leaned forward, hips resting against the guard rail, to see better. Behind him, Kozik muttered a triumphant, “Ha!” and, loud in the silent hall, Tig heard the snick of the lock giving way. He started to turn back.

“Meeooow!” Something small and black came zipping out of the office as soon as Kozik pulled open the door.

“Fuck!” Kozik cursed.

Tig, already on edge from the mannequins, sprang back. “Gaaah!” Losing his balance, he tumbled backward over the rail. The next instant, he landed hard enough to force the air from his chest and cut off the rest of his cursing.

For a minute, Tig’s lungs failed to work. Then his brain caught up and he sucked in oxygen, at the same time trying to sit up. Somehow, his flashlight had survived the fall, and it revealed―.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Tig swore, scrambling to get to his feet. Torsos without heads, limbs without bodies. A foot poked into his ribs and the curved fingers of an armless hand clutched at his jeans, unwilling to let him go. “Whoa!” He’d swung around and came face to face with a bodiless head. He couldn’t move, unable to look away from the head’s sightless eyes staring back at him. The nose was chipped, which was probably why they’d chucked it into the dumpster with the rest of the mangled mannequins.

But Tig didn’t really care why the head was there. All he cared about was getting the fuck away from it. Tripping and kicking at the fiberglass limbs and torsos that ensnared him, he fought his way to his feet, at last managing to grab onto the edge of the dumpster. He held on to it like a man at risk of drowning, wheezing in quick, shallow gasps of air.

“Hey, dude, you a’ight?” Kozik popped up in his line of sight, grabbing Tig’s wrist and helping him climb out. Panting for breath, Tig slumped to his knees on the dirty concrete floor. Blood was roaring in his ears, and his heart was racing a mile a minute. It felt like it’d burst out of his chest any second.

“Christ, man. You look like you had a run in with a ghost, not a bunch of broken dummies.” Kozik was hauling Tig back to his feet, laughing.

“Yeah, real funny, asshole.” Before he could stop himself, fear and adrenaline found an outlet in violence, and Tig swung a fist that connected with Kozik’s jaw, hard.

“Shit, Tig. What the hell was that for?” Kozik clutched his jaw, glaring back at Tig.

Tig gave a shake, not wanting to explain. Not really able to explain. He held his head hunched between his shoulders, hands curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms, and tried to collect himself.

Something shifted in Kozik’s eyes, and his anger disappeared. “Crap, you’re really freaked, ain’t ya?” His voice had turned softer, more understanding.

Tig shook his fist in Kozik’s face. “Not another word, you hear. To anyone. Not now, not ever.”

Kozik’s lips twitched, but he bit back the smile. Smart man. He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Tig forced himself to relax, making himself loosen his hands and stand up straighter, fighting off the defensive stance he’d fallen into reflexively.

“Anyway, I found the disk.” Kozik held up the plastic case triumphantly. “Was in the drawer, right where McKeavy promised it’d be. Ten second job. So let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Tig couldn’t agree more. He trotted toward the exit, not caring he was pulling ahead of Kozik. He just wanted _out_. He yanked open the door. “Oh shit.”

He slammed the door shut again just as fast.

“What?” Kozik caught up with him.

“Albanians. Outside. Two vans. Just pulling up.”

“Fuck,” Kozik agreed. “They see you?”

Tig shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Good. We gotta hide,” Kozik decided. Like Tig hadn’t thought of that already.

“I ain’t goin’ back in there.” Tig jerked his head toward where the dummies were lined up all through the hall. “No fuckin’ way.” He’d rather face a mob of angry Albanians than deal with those goddamn dolls again.

“A’ight. Upstairs.”

Their boots pounded on the steel staircase as they ran back to the office. Tig glanced around, searching for a place to hide, while Kozik locked the door behind them.

“In there.” Kozik pointed to a closet, barely bigger than a full-sized locker.

“We can’t―.” The rest of Tig’s words died on his lips as below and behind them, the warehouse door slammed open and voices echoed through the hall, coming closer by the second.

“No choice, bro,” Kozik whispered. “Unless you wanna shoot your way out.” The steel stairs started to ring with the clatter of boots.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Two vans, that had to be at least eight guys. Probably heavily armed. Against the two of them. And the Albanians weren’t known for their sense of humor or their inclination to mercy. So much for doing the Irish an easy favor that would pay back double in the future.

Cursing their luck under his breath, Tig shoved aside some coveralls on hangers and squeezed into the cabinet without another word. The already tight space got even tighter when Kozik crammed himself in after him. “Ow,” Tig complained when Kozik stepped on his toes.

“Shut up,” Kozik hissed, pulling the door shut behind him.

Just in time too. The next instant, the light in the small office flicked on, piercing through the gaps between the closet door and the doorframe. Tig nearly went cross-eyed when he looked into Kozik’s face, mere inches from his own. They held their breath.

Something tickled his nose―probably inhaled dust from those fucking dolls when he fell on them. “Ha―ha―.” He scrunched his eyes closed, hoping to keep the sneeze at bay. Suddenly, something pinched his nose. Tig’s eyes flew open and he saw Kozik was holding him between thumb and forefinger. Tig glared, but at least he no longer felt the desire to sneeze. Kozik arched an eyebrow in silent question. Tig nodded and Kozik let go.

Several long, uncomfortable minutes later, the voices grew muted again as their owners walked out of the office. The Albanians didn’t leave the factory, however; Tig could still hear muffled sounds―someone speaking, footsteps―coming from somewhere else in the building. Crap, how long before he and Koz’d be able to get out of this box? His left leg was starting to cramp, and he fumbled to rub a fist against his thigh, hoping to relax the muscle.

“The dummies.”

Tig stilled and stared at Kozik, cramp forgotten. “What about them?” He kept his voice as low as Kozik’s had been.

“They really freaked you out. Why?”

Tig narrowed his eyes. “Thought I said: not a word about that.”

Kozik gave a small shrug, more felt than seen. “Hey, you want me to have your back, I need to know.”

“Christ, I don’t know, dude.” But he did know, didn’t he? He just didn’t want to think about it―let alone tell anyone, even Kozik. “It’s that lunatic,” he said. “The palm reader. All that ranting about eyes. Got to me, I guess.”

“Hm.”

Tig wasn’t sure if that meant Kozik didn’t believe him, or if he thought he was a fool for letting the crazy bitch get under his skin, but  he seemed willing to let the matter go. At least, he didn’t say anything else, much to Tig’s relief. In the next instant, they heard car doors slamming outside the building, engines starting, tires screeching. They waited another minute, until blessed silence had descended once again over the warehouse.

“Think they’re gone?” Kozik asked in another whisper.

In spite of the small space, Tig managed to raise his shoulders. “Only one way to find out.”

He managed to get his gun out from the holster under his cut, and gave Kozik a nod. Tense, expecting a warning shout or gun fire at any moment, they inched open the closet door. Neither shout nor bullets came, and Tig let out a sigh. Looked like they were in the clear.

“Goddamn, look at that.” Kozik laughed nervously, pointing with his flashlight toward the desk.

Smack in the middle sat a black cat, licking its paws. Had to be the monster that had made Tig lose his balance, earlier. It looked up at the sound of Kozik’s voice, its eyes glowing in the beam of the flashlight. Green eyes, not unlike―.

Behind the cat, something shimmered in the shadows. Red hair, long robes…. Cold trickled along Tig’s spine and his heart jumped into his throat. Without thinking, he whipped up his gun, aiming it a fraction over the cat’s head, and fired three times in rapid succession. The shots echoed around the office, along with the cat’s screech as it flew off the desk and Kozik’s curse as, wildly angling the flashlight and waving his own weapon, he searched for the threat.

“Jesus Christ, man.” Kozik cursed again when the flashlight beam settled, revealing more clearly what Tig had shot at. In the corner, behind the desk, stood another mannequin, similar to the ones below in the warehouse. Except this one―female, wearing a red wig and a length of cloth draped over its body―had three neat, round holes clustered together in the center of its forehead. Its glassy eyes stared at Tig accusingly.

“I thought―,” Tig croaked, not finishing.

“Obviously.” Kozik was shaking his head as he put his gun away. “Shit, remind me to never take you to see a fortune teller again.”

Tig glared at him as he uncurled his fingers from the butt of his own gun and reholstered it inside his cut. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

Kozik paused with his hand on the door knob. “Nice shooting, though, bro.” He snorted a laugh. “I think you killed her good and dead.”

Tig muttered an “Asshole” under his breath as he pushed past Kozik and clumped down the steps. But truth was, he discovered, as they hurried back to where they’d parked their bikes, he did feel better. If only he could solve all his problems so easily.


End file.
